


No way I'd trade my scars for better ones

by yourbuttervoicedbeau (kiwiana)



Series: Songs from the Jukebox [Prompt Fills] [41]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: (quite implied hence the rating), Early Days, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, POV Patrick Brewer, Probably implausible hockey injuries but oh well, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:00:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26356858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwiana/pseuds/yourbuttervoicedbeau
Summary: “What happened here?” he asks softly, dragging his finger along the raised skin that curves around from the back of Patrick’s calf.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: Songs from the Jukebox [Prompt Fills] [41]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1775569
Comments: 38
Kudos: 246





	No way I'd trade my scars for better ones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ships_to_sail](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ships_to_sail/gifts).



> "ships stop distracting me from the longfic **you** want me to write with adorable prompts like _cuddly, hair-petting, David discovers Patrick has a scar he didn't know about_ " challenge (I'm kidding, please never stop xoxo)
> 
> Unedited, dashed off quickly when I needed a brain break from my WIP, barely reread.
> 
> Title is from Matt Nathanson.

When they finally have some privacy thanks to Stevie and her night in the woods with Jake  _ (lock it up, Brewer), _ their  _ connecting _ is over awfully, embarrassingly quickly.

The first time, anyway. 

Later, after they’ve eaten the frozen pizza David had the foresight to bring with him and topped up their whiskey glasses, they make their way back to the bed and it’s then that Patrick learns yet another new fact about himself, one of a million new things he’s discovered since moving to Schitt’s Creek: as it turns out, he  _ can _ go more than once a night. And if the first time was fast and messy and frantic, the second time is revelatory; it builds and builds and builds until Patrick is shaking with need, until David whispers  _ let go _ and he does.

Later still, when they’re showered and tangled up together under the sheets David starts kissing his way slowly down Patrick’s chest with a smile, and Patrick genuinely wonders if maybe he could go for a third round. With David, he thinks anything might be possible.

David, however, doesn’t seem to be kissing him in a way that’s going to lead to sex. They’re gentle, exploratory kisses: down one shoulder and back up the inside of his arm; across his collarbone; down his side, stubble scraping gently along the sensitive skin and making him gasp and squirm; over his hip and down his thigh where he starts adding an achingly soft drag of his teeth as he moves down. He presses his lips to the side of Patrick’s knee and then he stops, pulling back a little.

“What happened here?” he asks softly, dragging his finger along the raised skin that curves around from the back of Patrick’s calf.

Patrick had pretty much forgotten about the scar. He’s had it a long time, and it’s not a part of his body he spends a lot of time looking at; the only other person who’s really been up close and personal with it for any length of time is Rachel, and she was there when he got it. 

“Hockey injury,” he replies, waiting for David to resume the sweet, languorous kissing, but instead he just quirks up the corner of his mouth and waits until Patrick realises he wants more detail. “I caught the sharp edge of a skate,” he adds, and watches David’s wonderfully expressive face cycle through several things in quick succession. 

“Don’t you have a costume to protect you from stuff like that?” David finally asks, his voice rising towards the end of the question.

“When it’s a real game,” Patrick shrugs. “But some friends and I were just having a muck about on the ice, so we didn’t put all the protective gear on because, it may surprise you to learn, fifteen-year-old boys are idiots.” He grins down at David whose face is still hovering near his knee, a small smile on his face as he listens intently to the story. “Knocked into my friend Matt, we both went down, his skate ripped straight through my pants and also my skin. I had to get stitches; I thought I was a total badass.”

“Mm.” David’s gaze flickers to the scar and back to Patrick’s face. “And now, when you play, you wear all the… padding or whatever?”

“Oh, I haven’t played hockey in years,” Patrick says lightly. “Just baseball these days, and I haven’t looked for a league here yet.”

David frowns. “Okay, but… there’s protective stuff in baseball too, right? And you wear it?” he asks slowly.

Patrick is confused about the sudden interest in sports gear, but he nods. “Sure.”

“Good,” David says before he surges up to kiss him, just a hint of tongue on his lower lip before he pulls away. “I don’t like the thought of you getting hurt,” he whispers when he pulls back, his eyes sliding away from Patrick’s as he says it, and Patrick’s heart clenches as he finally understands the line of questioning. 

He thinks about all the ways he could get injured by an errant baseball no matter how much protective gear he wears, and doesn’t voice any of them. He thinks about how much power he’s granted David to hurt him over these last few weeks, his feelings so much stronger than anything he’s felt before that they threaten to overwhelm him, and he doesn’t voice that fear either.

“I’m not going to get hurt, David,” is what he says instead, a promise to both of them.

David smiles — one of those rare, beautiful smiles that takes over his whole face, that takes Patrick’s breath away. “Glad to hear it,” he breathes, dropping down so he’s leaning all his weight on Patrick, sliding both hands under Patrick’s jaw and kissing him, deep and sure.

As it turns out, they can go for a third round after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Come and find me on [Tumblr](http://yourbuttervoicedbeau.tumblr.com).


End file.
